Berry Box
by Tarafina
Summary: "If you're not in love with me, then you practice very unusual friendship rituals… and I would demand to see every box you might have on all of your other friends, for proprieties sake." PxR


**Title**: Berry Box  
**Category**: Glee  
**Genre**: Romance/Drama/Humor  
**Ship**: Rachel/Puck  
**Rating**: Teen  
**Warning(s)**: Coarse Language, Sexual Innuendo  
**Prompt**: Rachel comes across scribbles that Puck writes to remind himself of their time together. They're barely notes and barely legible but dates, significant days, even the clothes she wears...they're all there. – puckrachel drabble meme  
**Word Count**: 3,333  
**Summary**: "If you're not in love with me, then you practice very unusual friendship rituals… and I would demand to see every box you might have on all of your other friends, for proprieties sake."

**_Berry_****_ Box_**  
-1/1-

They had six days together. Six days that if she looks back at for any length of time seem to blur into one long memory of soft lips slanting against her own and coarse hair abrading her palms and the spicy scent of him with each and every inhale. Six days of calloused hands and guitar riffs and bright green-hazel eyes staring up at her from her pink bedspread. She remembers the taste of him, the feel of him, the way his bicep flexed whenever her hand even so much as grazed it. She remembers; just perhaps not as well as he does. It's been months since she and Finn agreed that she should focus on her and her dreams and getting out of Lima, which she knows really means to stay out of the way of his returned interest in Quinn. And she takes his advice (originally dished out by Mercedes) and puts her vast attention back on being Rachel Berry, future Broadway star. She fights for solos, she interrupts Mr. Shue (often), she corrects others and their not quite as extraordinary vocal abilities and she gets threatened and berated and told to sit down and shut up. But she forges ahead, putting all of her energy and focus into that one thing, that one goal, because if she wasn't Rachel, Finn's girlfriend, then she had to be Rachel, glee freak and future Tony award winner.

"You need to find some kinda middle ground, B," Noah sighs, sprawled out on one of the many lined up plastic chairs in the choir room. "Like, sing for fun and not praise or dance like an idiot and not like some scout's out there in the crowd. Just be… I dunno… You before Broadway."

At first, she thinks he might be insulting her. There's a vague possibility he is. But then she realizes that he's trying to help her. Not _change _her. Not like how Finn wanted her to fit in so he wouldn't be so uncomfortable or embarrassed by her admittedly very abrasive character. No. Noah wants her to relax and enjoy herself and see that there are times when she doesn't always have to be '_on_' and that's okay. Which is exactly what he says when she tells him that she's perfectly content with her life just as it is. "Seriously, Berry!" he exclaims. "You don't always have to be _on_, all right? 'Coz I've seen you when you're off. You're cool and fun and fucking _hot_, so just—"

"If you could explain this 'on' setting you are referring to," she interrupts, because when he starts going off on tangents like these, about how attractive he finds her, she gets out of her comfort zone. It's not that she's _uncomfortable_ with his interest, but perhaps that she enjoys it _too _much and thus cannot bear to hear his off-hand comments and see the ways his attractive green-hazel eyes glaze over and he licks his full lips and his gaze wanders along her legs like he's imagining all the ways he could spread them or wrap them around his waist or—She cuts off her line of thought when a flood of desire washes over her; something that's been happening all too often around him lately.

"_On_," he sighs, rolling his eyes. "Like your every word is being recorded for E! True Hollywood Story or some shit… Look, I get that you wanna take over New York, but it's just me and you…" He motions around the empty choir room. "Yeah, the gleeks are gonna be here soon, but I guaran-_fucking_-tee you they ain't recording you on their iPhones so they can sell that shit to the tabloids later."

She purses her lips, because as much as she would be flattered by their preparation, she knows he's right. "While your crude vernacular leaves something to be desired, perhaps you have a point."

"Once in a blue moon," he snarks, smirking.

Blowing out a breath, she lets her shoulders fall a little and crosses to sit next to him. She doesn't spend the few minutes before the others arrive mentally listing everything she wants to tell them or all of her many corrections for Mr. Shuester to take under advisement on how to better the glee club. Instead, she just sits and listens to Noah hum under his breath, his fingers moving in front of his stomach like he's strumming an absent guitar. He has beautiful hands, she decides, letting her thoughts wander. They're long and tanned and she knows from experience that they're rough and strong and knowledgeable and—

The room fills and she has to force her gaze and thoughts elsewhere, but she takes his advice; she tries to relax, to listen rather than intercede, to be a part of rather than the sole important piece. She does this for a few weeks and she finds that her stress headaches have lessened, that she enjoys dancing and singing even more because it's not always for others but for herself. She tries to praise her fellow gleeks rather than critique them and she listens instead of talks. There are times, of course, when she has to speak up, but her words are more appreciated because they're not overused or only to hear her admittedly incredible voice. Instead of putting all of her focus on glee or vocal lessons, she allows time for friendships and outings and expanding her social skills. And because he was the first to encourage her, she finds Noah sticks by her closest. She spends many of her afternoons at the Puckerman house, helping him take care of his little sister until his mom returns from work. It's all very domestic and comfortable and easy. She likes it. She likes who she is and that the others can appreciate her a little more. She likes that she can be _Rachel_. Not _Rachel Berry – Finn's Girlfriend_. Not _Rachel Berry – Broadway Diva_. Not even _Rachel Berry with a gold star_. Just… Just Rachel. Or B. She rather likes being _B_, a nickname only Noah is allowed to use. She flushes at the thought, at the memory of his mouth forming that one letter that seems to say so much more. Of friendship and acceptance and… and something else that she'd never quite defined.

Not until this moment. This moment where she sits on his bed while he's downstairs trying to talk his sister Sarah out of cereal and chocolate milk for dinner. She sits and she stares at the shoebox next to her.

There is a ticket to a subtitled movie she's only seen once – she'd dragged him to it during their short six day courtship. Even now, she wonders how she managed to convince him he would like it. He didn't. He spent most of the movie with his hand on her knee, slowly trying to sneak it higher. She let him get a few inches and then she'd push it back down. He'd try again and she'd let him get a little higher than before, but then she'd shove it back down to her knee. Despite not having any idea what was going on in the movie, he spent most of it grinning to himself like he'd accomplished something.

There's a receipt for BreadstiX inside as well. She remembers now the one time he brought her to his go-to restaurant. He tried to talk her into dining and dashing but the very firm rant she burst out about how hard their waitress had worked and how little she was likely paid and how their bill would come out of her pocket made him pull out his wallet and pay for their three appetizers (all of which he ate alone), two drinks, the steak and potatoes he ate and the vegan dish she'd consumed. He even left a tip. He'd tried writing _Don't eat yellow snow_ on a napkin and telling her it was an _awesome _tip, but her raised brow and tapping foot made him drop a ten on the table and roll his eyes. "Ya happy? I'm officially broke for like the rest of the year." And they called _her _dramatic…

As she continues to look through the box, she finds all of these little bits and pieces from their time together.

There's a pink straw with bite marks on the end and she just knows it's from the slushee they shared one night they spent driving around in his truck, listening to the radio and singing along. He specifically got her a pink straw while his was green and when she reached for his, he told her he wasn't going to drink out of some sissy girl straw and she better keep her cooties to herself. Since they spent an hour making out in the cab of his truck, she was fairly sure he wasn't worried about her cooties. She realizes now that he when he offered to throw away the plastic cup, he must've snuck her straw into his pocket.

It's not until she stumbles upon a homemade vegan recipe book that she realizes something very, very important. That day that he said he was going to break up with her anyway… She was right; he wasn't. It's just a pad of paper, nothing special about it really. Except his slanted masculine scrawl has recipe after recipe of different dishes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, all made with specific ingredients so not to upset her strict diet. And in the margins are little notes that are so _typically _him, she smiles. Like, _the hell are meat crumbles? _And _vege-sal is like spiced salt… totally not the same as Vagisil_. And, _weed's vegan, right? Must convince Berry_. She laughs, even if a part of her wants to be appalled, because he thinks of the most unusual things and yet somehow they're entirely _sweet_. He went out of his way to look up vegan alternatives for her, but they never had a chance for her to sample any of his kitchen creations. She suddenly feels sad that she's lost out.

The further she searches, the more she realizes that his box is full of things that happened long after their break-up, and even a few _before _they'd even dated. He has dates scribbled on pieces of paper. Dates that when she looks back on represent moments together and apart. Like one in October, where he wrote, _Got outta juvie - Berry dropped off 'glad you're home' cookies with little lines on 'em like bars… Bat-shit awesome. _Or even further back, when she was still dating Jesse, dates like the one where they'd almost kissed, or when she'd been egged, or when he'd slashed the tires on the Vocal Adrenaline SUVs. And under some of them, dates she couldn't link to anything particular, were little scribbles like _Pink plaid's hot _or _catholic school girl _or _Brittney/Berry=yesss_ and she realizes that he's actually written down specific days in which she wrote outfits he… _appreciated_.

She sits back and just stares a long moment. Inside this box is over a year of _moments_. Of little things and big things and things he didn't even have to do with, really, but that he'd been on the outside looking in. Moments when she hadn't realized just how much he cared, or noticed, or _fixed _in his own Puck-like way. There's even a ticket stub for the championship game she played the first half in, and on the back in black felt is #1, her jersey number. _You ready for this? _He'd asked. "Let's kick some ass," she murmurs under her breath thoughtfully. How long has he been so close and yet so far? How long has he been creating this Box of Berry and she's just passed over him, disregarding him and his feelings, like he was no more than a minor player in her life? Her brows furrow and regret wells thick in her chest. She doesn't know what it means, what she _wants_ it to mean, but—

She gets to the bottom and there in the center is a small gold star sticker. She traces it with her finger and tears spring to her eyes. A metaphor, she thinks, for the star she is buried beneath all the good and the bad of the last year, between Finn and Jesse and Shelby - all of whom didn't know her half as well as the boy who kept this box – and Noah, who recognized her and fought for her and all the while fought to keep himself afloat. And suddenly she _does _know what it means and what she _wants _it to mean and that they are one in the same.

"Hey, B? You don't eat cheese, right? 'Coz Sarah wants grilled cheese and I—" He pauses in the doorway of his bedroom, spots the box and then her and then the ticket stub in her hand. He licks his lips and his eyes dart away. She can see the cogs turning, the excuses piling up and he just has to pick one. His jaw ticks and he steps further into the room. "Y'know, privacy's kinda gonna be an issue if you're just gonna—"

"I didn't mean to," she bursts out, leaping from his bed. "I just… I was looking around, you know how easily bored I become. And I was tidying up at first – you _really _must create a better system for cleaning your room, Noah. I mean the mess is absolutely appalling sometimes. I—" She cuts herself off, because she knows she's beginning to ramble, and her eyes fall to the box. She lifts her hands uselessly and then lets them fall to her sides. "I'm sorry," she finally murmurs.

He looks like she just slapped him and she wonders how her apology could have possibly hurt him in any way.

"S'okay, whatever… Not like I expected you to go for a Lima Loser anyway, right?" He swallows thickly. "Finn was right, you should—you should focus on New York and…" He shakes his head. "It was stupid anyway, I mean… Imma stud, right? Shouldn't be chasing _your _skirt… Can't even get my hand up it." He tries to look like he doesn't care, like she's just one of many women he keeps a memorabilia box of, but she knows better.

"You're in love with me," she tells him, like he needs to know what she's recently discovered. Her heart skitters quick and excited against her chest. "You've been in love with me since… since before we even dated."

"What? No—I—" He stuffs his hands into his pockets, his eyes wide and his brows high on his forehead, and she's keenly aware this is his 'caught red-handed' expression. "I was just… Whatever, Berry. You're hot. And like… hard to get. That's—That's all this is. So don't like, read into this shit."

Hands on her hips, she raises a delicate brow. "Noah… You keep a box full of dates in which I wear your favorite skirts… You kept the _straw _I used when we shared a slushee… You have your own vegan recipe book with various pages circled in red like they turned out well and others scratched out…" She smiles gently. "You tried to _cook _for me." Shaking her head, she laughs under her breath. "If you're not in love with me, then you practice very unusual friendship rituals… and I would demand to see every box you might have on all of your other friends, for proprieties sake."

Frowning, he half-glares at her, and she knows there are no other boxes.

She shakes her head slowly. "I can't believe I've been so blind… All this time…" She chews her lip thoughtfully. "My entire relationship with Finn, even with _Jesse_, you were…" She fingers the end of her skirt absently. "When did you know?"

He sighs, shoulders slumping, and she sees defeat written plainly in his face. "Know what? That I went and fell for your crazy ass?" He leans back against the wall, shaking his head. "After you dumped me… I was caught up in all that Quinn and Beth bullshit and you were the only good thing I had going and then… Then I realized you wanted Finn, you were _always _going to want him…" He scoffs bitterly. "And then there was Jesse St. Douche and Finn again and I just… I was just this fuck-up who gave up his baby and got sent to juvie and wasn't worth any more than a revenge fuck, so I tried to be okay with that. I really… I _did_." He stares at her seriously. "But then you were under me and you were so close and you smell _so fucking good_ and I thought… Jesus, I'm gonna get inside her and I'm not gonna wanna leave and you're just gonna go back to Finn and I couldn't…" His brow furrowed. "I _couldn't _have you and let you go… That shit's not fucking kosher, Berry."

She nods, because it all makes a little more sense now. _He _makes more sense now. "I'm glad you stopped us, Noah…" She looks up at him earnestly. "I want our first time together to have no strings attached. No… No Finn waiting in the background and no confusion regarding who it is my feelings are for. I want…" She smiles slowly, content in the knowledge that what she's saying is true. That one day this will all come to fruition and it will make sense in a way she and Finn never have. "I want our first time to be solely about us."

He stares at her warily, gaze narrowed. "You're talkin' like you expect us to have a first time, Berry…" He frowns. "Don't get my hopes up, 'coz I've been through enough shit already…" He reaches up and scrubs a hand back through his 'hawk, like he does when he's nervous or uncomfortable or when things get too emotional.

She crosses the room to him, reaches out and places her hands on his shoulders, slides them up so they cradle his neck and feels as he swallows tightly. She stares up into his face, watches as his eyes soften and fall to half-mass, as his lips part and a puff of air escapes. She strokes her thumbs along his neck and murmurs, "You're not a Lima Loser, Noah. That was never the reason we didn't have a relationship or I didn't reciprocate your feelings… I was lost in Finn and you had so much going on between Quinn and Beth and your time in that juvenile center and I…" She sighs. "I apologize for how long it's taken me to see you for who you are and what you mean, but now that I've caught up I think I'd like to explore what we could have been and what we will be…" She grins widely. "Maybe we can fill the rest of that box up along the way."

Leaning forward, he presses his forehead to hers. "I'd like that…" He smirks. "It helps that you're wearing my favorite skirt… April 16th, 2009… Windy, windy day."

As he laughs, she slaps his shoulder, but before she can tell him how unappreciated his crude behavior is, he slants his mouth across hers and she's thoroughly distracted. For the next while, she can be content with soft lips slanting against her own and coarse hair abrading her palms and the spicy scent of him with each and every inhale. It's a memory she wants, and gets, to relive, over and over and over again.

They had six days together once, even if he spent more than a year in love with her. She thinks they can outlast their former record by a landslide. Years later, when they marry in New York and live happily ever after, she adds all of the important pieces from his Berry Box to their Puckerman scrapbook.

[**End.**]


End file.
